The hustle and bustle of New York streets are heard for miles, the trains passing, almost constant traffic, the neon lights burning out over years. The sound reaches every square foot, a dim apartment lay filthy Chinese takeout boxes lay amuck the curtains haven't been opened for maybe six months, the lightbulb is starting to burn. A chair sat in the middle of the room under the fan a rope hanging from the non functional fan. A man scruffy looking early twenties black wavy hair in a Wolfcut, freckles dotted his face his hazel eyes not reflecting the dim light coming from the small cracks between the curtains. A piercing lay just below his bottom lip a stark silver stud, the day was cold, cloudy with a drizzle and Breeze in the air. I am that man I know I know it's cringe to narrate your own stories but fuck it why not, my names Connor university dropout formerly majoring in philosophy I work at a shitty Chinese joint downtown now but at least I get free food with my pay I guess. Mr and Mrs Zhang are a sweet old couple but make me feel guilty ya know? Like they check up on me pretty much every day when I leave work and I just gotta say "yea doin fine." But I'm not but I can't say that ya know just tough. But tonight hopefully that'll change he says as he takes a swig from a flask, it's like liquid fire a mix of cheap vodka and whisky as he stands on the chair. Dropping the flask with a clank on the tiled floor chipping one slightly the faint hum of "This Night has Opened my Eyes" by the smiths play from his phone as he places the rope just under his chin around his neck resting on his Adam's apple. He raised his leg and kicked the chair flying afew feet away as he began to choke, the fan cracked and snapped Connor making a hard impact with the tiles but somehow that led to the fan working again for the first time in months. Connor faded in and out of consciousness eventually passing out
On the floor.
The sun shone an orange tinted light through the window waking Connor his eyes fluttered open, "OH FOR FUCK SAKES!" He exclaimed taking the rope off from around his neck getting up with his clearly sprained wrist heavily bruised, with a wince he began boiling the kettle, barely any sound was made by his socks sliding him to the bathroom cabinet, bandages ripped and wrapped around his wrist with 2 OxyContin pills well why not 3 to be safe. A loud whistle came from the kitchen as he walked to the kettle mug in hand, coffee it's needed for a life like this "fuck my life I'm gonna be late to work now too Jesus." He wore sweatpants and a band T-shirt slipping on an old beat up pair of vans and running out of his apartment locking the door behind him. He ran down a flight of stairs toward the elevator making it as the doors begun to open. Pushing past a group of people and rapidly clicking the ground floor and close door button, the doors shut leaving Connor in there alone with elevator music and his Thoughts. He stared at himself in the elevator mirror as he said to his parallel mirror-self "what the actual fuck is wrong with you it's the third time youve tried Jesus you can't even kill yourself right." The elevator doors opened as his breath once again filled his lungs, a black cat sat at the doors head tilted paw in the air. Grey let out a sigh as he dropped to a squat petting the cat on its head before walking out of the apartment building, yet another cloudy day. Atleast it was dry this time but it didn't do wonders for the goosebumps on Connor, his fault for wearing a T-shirt.
Many people think black cats are bad omens but I don't believe in superstitious, Connors sneakers followed the sidewalk for about 2 miles and he reached it. A dingy refurnished pizza place sat infront of him but the sign read "Feng shei Chinese food." The doors had a bell which rang out as he entered indiscernible music filling the silent air, he made his way to the counter putting on his apron and taking stand at the register. In my own words, from nine to five it's just dickheads.
The same stupid assholes come in every day, that one old guy with the crooked fucking teeth that just orders plain rice. That one guy in his 40's he always comes in with a coffee ftom the place next door even though we make coffee, he's always on the phone being loud and obnoxious always orders egg fried rice and then leaves. Blinding me and any other poor souls at my eye level with his gigantic bald spot. That one blonde who always comes in with WAY too much makeup and tries to flirt with me before ordering just a Diet Coke and leaving. Fuck sometimes this place is unbearable, but I need the cash rents been heavy. He puts his apron on the rack around 12 to Have a lunch break, sweet and sour chicken with noodles his usual. He always sits outside so he can smoke Mr and Mrs Zhang would kill him if he smoked inside but it's understandable. A cigarette met his lips a lighter letting off a loud click with the smell of tobacco filling the surrounding area. One could say that Connors smoking habits were a suicide attempt on their own, not that it mattered. His shift was nearing its end regardless with a long pause clouds began to roll across masking the sky a light grey with small trickles of rain starting as Connor made his way back to his apartment, clocking out for hopefully the last time.
The walk home was quiet surprisingly no real distractions left Connor alone with his thoughts. He made up his mind tonight he'd do it properly he would overdose on the strongest pain medication he had, oxycodone he was almost gleeful thinking of it as his feet lifted from a slow walk to almost a skip. Scraping the rubbery portions of his soles wearing them across the sidewalk. Passing dark alleys with needles strewn across the entrances the stench of death and trash wafting from majority of them whether it be a dead rat or on occasion a beggar.